


at the dawning of the world

by viverella



Series: reckless behavior (high school au) [1]
Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, House Party, Kissing Games, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-24
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-18 11:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5926090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viverella/pseuds/viverella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Are you kidding me?” Patroclus hisses at Briseis as she pulls him by the arm to where people are gathering. “What are we, like twelve? No one plays spin the bottle anymore.”</i>
</p><p>the high school au no one asked for</p>
            </blockquote>





	at the dawning of the world

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally no excuse for this. this is disgustingly sappy and cheesy and I haven't even wanted to write a high school au for like years but then I looked up and this entirely over-dramatic fic had basically written itself. so.
> 
> actually, I have about half an excuse for this. I'm adapting tsoa into a screenplay for a class I'm in this semester, which led to me rereading parts of tsoa, which led to me having way too many thoughts and feelings about these dumbs, which led to me having to just write it all out, and I guess this is the way my mind chooses to process all of this. not that any of this makes this fic any less ridiculous, but at least I sound a little thoughtful and less self-indulgent when I say it like that.
> 
> lowkey, I have a couple more ideas floating around in my head for lil silly fics like this to put in this 'verse, which is why I created the series this fic is in, but that's sort of a 'just in case' measure so don't expect anything big too terribly soon but feel free to subscribe to it if you feel so inclined.

As a general rule, Patroclus hates parties. They’re too loud and there’s too many people and the beer invariably sucks. And it’s not like he knows how to talk to any of the people there or that he even fits in with them at all, bookish and awkward and gangly as he is, and he’s been to exactly three parties in as many years in high school and every one of them has turned out to be a disaster. 

The first time, freshman year, Briseis claimed it’d be a great way to make new friends, and he’d ended up dancing on the dining room table after doing a round of shots of cheap vodka with people he can’t remember, and he’d woken up the next morning with a black eye and a hot pink wig on. 

The second time, he’d gone because there was a cute guy Briseis liked who she knew as going to the party and Patroclus, because if he’s good at one thing it’s being a good friend, had tagged along to be her social crutch. After a few drinks, she’d ended up flirting with the guy just fine on her own, and Patroclus had spent the night sitting on the couch alone with the host’s cat. 

The third time, it’s the second semester of junior year, and Patroclus knows by now that he can’t really stand any of the people who regularly go to parties – the jocks and the stoners and the kids who have too much money and don’t give two shits about actually learning a thing in school – but he loves Briseis dearly so he lets her talk him into making an appearance at a party in the suburbs hosted by the captain of the track team, who Briseis couldn’t possibly know that Patroclus has a stupid, pointless, ridiculous crush on because he’s never told a soul about it, about how he sometimes sneaks off to sit in the bleachers while the track team practices, about how he lingers by his locker after his second period math class because he knows his crush always walks that way to get to his English class. Because it’s pathetic and pointless and it’s not like his crush has ever looked at him twice anyways. But whatever. It’s his party, and Patroclus lets Briseis talk him into going. 

The party, when Patroclus gets there, is predictably too big and too noisy and Patroclus can only see maybe a handful of people he actually recognizes, much less who actually know his name, and he ends up downing several beers while Briseis (the social butterfly, damn her) chats with people she knows and makes eyes at a cute girl from her art class. And this is all before he gets dragged into playing a game of spin the bottle that’s apparently cropped up when he wasn’t paying attention.

“Are you kidding me?” Patroclus hisses at Briseis as she pulls him by the arm to where people are gathering. “What are we, like twelve? No one plays spin the bottle anymore.”

Briseis laughs, her large eyes curving into pretty crescent shapes. “It’ll be fun,” she promises, her voice soft and gentle and firm like she gets when she’s just trying to get him out of his shell just a little. And it’s never malicious, but about fifty percent of the time, Patroclus ends up regretting everything, though that’s not really her fault either and he’s probably being unfair. 

And anyways there are way too may people around, _cooler_ people, more _popular_ people, people who are fun and social and seem to have their lives together in a way that Patroclus never learned how, so he tamps down on the urge to kick up a fuss over how dumb this is and how much he’d rather just be at home where it’s quiet and calm and he has a good book waiting for him and knows that he’ll be able to wake up the next morning without hating himself. Not that any of that stops him from sulking a little bit as Briseis pulls him into the circle that’s forming, but at least he still has his wits about him enough to keep it to himself instead of throwing a temper tantrum like a four-year-old. 

“You didn’t start without me, did you?” a voice calls out from the doorway behind Patroclus, and when he whips his head around, probably in hindsight a little too obviously, there’s Achilles strolling in behind him, all lazy smiles and soft golden curls, captain of the track team and the best of all of them. 

Patroclus feels something tighten in his chest and momentarily forgets how to move or speak. Achilles smiles at his friends and goes over to join them, even though Achilles doesn’t even look at or acknowledge Patroclus, he feels his heart stop, just for a beat, and maybe he’s just a touch drunker than he meant to be because he’s blushing, the kind of blush that creeps up his neck and over his ears, and he hates blushing in public. It takes Briseis tugging on his arm for him to remember to at least try to be a functional human being and go over to where the spin the bottle game is starting and sit down. 

“You did this on purpose,” Patroclus hisses at Briseis as they join the circle. “You knew he’d be here.”

Briseis laughs. “It’s his party; of course he’s here,” she says, and then nudges him with her elbow. “And anyways, this could all work out perfectly for you, right?”

Patroclus’ eyes widen and his blush deepens. “How did you know about that?” he asks accusingly, and he’s mostly just being dramatic, because of course she knows, because she’s one of the brightest and most observant people he knows, because she’s his best friend in the entire world and he’d be silly to actually believe that she wouldn’t know.

Briseis grins and takes a sip of her beer, leaning back on her free hand. “I’ve known you since you were still eating crayons,” she says, “How could I not?”

Around them, the game has already started, and thankfully, the bottle hasn’t landed on Patroclus and no one has designated it his turn yet, because Patroclus doesn’t particularly like any of the track guys, who make up half the game and whose girlfriends make up the other half of the game (who Patroclus has no personal grudge against, of course, except that he doesn’t want to be put in the position of being the nerd who kissed one of them in front of their boyfriends, who are all at least twice Patroclus’ size and meatheads, mostly), and then there’s Achilles, who Patroclus doesn’t think he’d have the courage to kiss even if the universe willed it to be through this ridiculous game. And for once, Patroclus is thankful that he’s largely invisible, because no one seems to even remember he’s playing, and for once, that’s fine. He’d rather be ignored than humiliated when some jock refuses to kiss him. 

Several rounds pass, and no one calls on Patroclus to go and the bottle doesn’t land on him, and slowly, Patroclus feels himself relax, despite the fact that Achilles is sitting a mere three feet away from him and that even if Achilles doesn’t even look in Patroclus’ direction more than once or twice it’s still the longest time Patroclus has ever spent in such close proximity to him. And just as Patroclus thinks that maybe the world will be kind to him tonight and let him go home with his dignity in one piece, Achilles reaches to spin the bottle and it’s like Patroclus can hear the universe laughing at him for getting so complacent, because the bottle spins and spins and spins and Patroclus can just see it happening, like it’s all in slow motion. The bottle spins and slows and, finally, stops, pointing right at Patroclus, because the world is a cruel place and likes to taunt Patroclus with things he can’t have in real life. 

Achilles looks up from watching the bottle and when his eyes meet Patroclus’, Patroclus’ whole world screeches to a halt. Something swoops low in Patroclus’ gut and he can all but hear his heart pounding in his ears, frantic and uneven and somewhere between elated that Achilles has finally noticed him in some way and utterly _horrified_ that this is happening, here, now, in front of all these people. Something flickers through Achilles’ impossibly green eyes, something that Patroclus doesn’t quite catch through his beer-muddled senses, something that in daylight might’ve been doubt or apprehension. He’s probably calculating the shortest possible time he can get away with kissing Patroclus and not completely ruin the game. Patroclus swallows thickly and debates the merits of just cutting his losses and running away. 

After what feels like an eternity to Patroclus’ panicking mind, but in reality is probably no more than a handful of seconds, something like determination settles over Achilles’ soft features, and he leans in across the circle towards Patroclus. And Patroclus might as well be watching a movie of his life, because he can’t for the life of him remember how to move or even think, and suddenly, Achilles’ hand is coming up to cup Patroclus’ chin, gentle and careful, like Patroclus is something precious. At this point, Patroclus is about ninety-percent sure his drunk brain is making this all up, because here’s the boy of his dreams sliding his fingertips up Patroclus’ jaw like they’re in some sort of ridiculous romcom, and when Patroclus gasps just audibly at the shock of Achilles’ skin on his, Patroclus could swear that the corner of Achilles’ mouth turns up, except that Achilles’ face is getting too close for Patroclus to see properly and his eyes shut of their own accord besides. 

And for a brief, beautiful moment, the entire world narrows to just this, Achilles’ lips pressing gently against his, and this, the light touch of Achilles’ tongue on his slightly parted mouth, and _this_ , Patroclus melting into the kiss like it’s the only thing that exists, like he could live in this moment forever. And Patroclus, who has only ever kissed one person before in his life (and that was Briseis and they were about eight and and it was silly and they were playing house), thinks that if all kisses were this easy, if all kisses felt so much like coming home after a long day, he would never want to stop.

Then, suddenly, the rest of the world catches up with a huge roar – the cheers of the people in the room, the smell of spilt beer, the thump of the music – and Achilles lips, still light on his, begin to pull away, and Patroclus comes crashing back into his own body. Now that Achilles isn’t kissing him anymore and Patroclus can finally string together two thoughts again, he realizes with a sickening clench in his chest how disastrous of a mistake this all was. Who did he think he was, melting into a kiss like that with a boy he’s never spoken to? How could he think, even for a second, that this was anything more than a game to him? Achilles is probably going to go off with his friends later and laugh about this, about the loser kid who was so nervous about getting kissed that he couldn’t even move. 

Patroclus jerks away suddenly, every self-preservation instinct he has kicking into overdrive, and Achilles’ face is still too close to his, his mouth slightly parted from the kiss, his hand hovering where Patroclus’ face used to be, and he’s so beautiful with his high cheekbones and bright eyes and it’s too much. And in a perfect world, Patroclus would be a handful of years older when he kissed Achilles for the first time, with more experience and more knowhow and the wherewithal to be able to kiss a boy without completely falling apart. He would give anything to not be sixteen and awkward, to know exactly what to say when a boy’s face is inches from his and he wants nothing more than to sink his hands into those soft blonde curls and kiss him within an inch of his life. 

But Patroclus _is_ sixteen and he _is_ awkward and he _doesn’t_ know how to do anything when confronted with his problems but run.

“I need some air,” he mumbles, but hardly anyone is even paying attention to him anymore, the game resuming without a hitch. 

Patroclus lurches unsteadily to his feet and stumbles in the direction of the nearest door, limbs too heavy and his heart sinking in his chest, and he can hear, vaguely, Briseis calling after him, concern high in her voice, but it sounds like she’s shouting through water, tinny and echoing and faraway. He feels like he’s about to fall out of his own body and his mouth is still tingling from where Achilles’ lips pressed against his, and all he can do is walk and keep walking until he’s left that room and that dumb game and the humiliation far behind him. 

When he has it in him to stop and look around, he finds that he’s wandered outside to what must be a backyard, with a huge lawn and a pool and everything. Because of course Achilles, with his perfect life and perfect face and perfect everything would have the perfect house to go along with it all. 

Patroclus sighs and kicks off his shoes, padding through the grass to get to the pool. The grass is damp and cool beneath his feet and as he settles down by the pool and rolls up his pants to the knees, letting his legs dangle into the water, he feels the sharp ache in his chest subside into a dull hollowness. Maybe he’ll wake up tomorrow morning and this will all feel like a bad dream.

“If you’re going to throw up, you should know that my mom will kill me if you do it in the pool.”

Patroclus jumps at the sudden voice, his heart leaping to his throat at the familiar timbre of it, the clear, round vowels and careful consonants. Before Patroclus can even consider running or really even react, Achilles drops down to sit beside him at the pool’s edge, crossing his legs and dangling his fingers into the pool to kick up little ripples that splash lightly at Patroclus’ legs, and Patroclus thinks maybe he’s already passed out and this is some sort of weird dream, because there’s no way that Achilles is sitting here next to him in real life, looking at him with those soft green eyes. It takes Patroclus a little too long to realize that Achilles is staring at him expectantly like he’s supposed to say something and it takes Patroclus a moment longer to realize that he _is_ supposed to say something and a second longer than that for his mouth to catch up with his brain.

“I’m not,” Patroclus says suddenly. And then he adds after a beat, “Going to puke, I mean.”

He winces, hating how stilted and clumsy he sounds. He hopes that Achilles knows that Patroclus would never be this lame sober. 

Achiles smiles at him, the barest hint of it playing at his mouth like he hasn’t decided to commit fully to it. He’s just being nice, Patroclus thinks. He’s just being a good host so he won’t feel guilty about it in the morning. Briseis probably sent Achilles out here to check up on him in hopes of starting something, and Achilles was just too nice to say no. 

“I’m glad,” Achilles says, and the sound of it throws Patroclus back into his body.

Patroclus clears his throat. “Yeah, so, um, I’m fine,” he says, trying his best to sound even and cool and in control but stumbling over his words anyways. “So you don’t—I mean, you can go back to enjoying your party. I’m, y’know. I’m _fine_.”

Achilles hums quietly and nods, leaning back to rest his weight on his hands, but he doesn’t move to leave, something inscrutable settling over his face that Patroclus can’t make out through the dim lighting of the yard and the beer muddying his senses.

“I see,” Achilles says slowly. He glances down at his feet and when he looks back up again, something careful and almost cautious in his eyes like he’s uncertain, and he says, a little bit lower this time, “Hey, I’m sorry, by the way.”

Patroclus blinks, taken aback. “Huh?” he says, eloquent as always. 

Achilles laughs, and it’s something light and musical like wind chimes and Patroclus thinks that he’d like to bottle that sound up forever so he’d be able to relive it on gloomy days, thinks that that’s probably the most ridiculous thought he’s ever had, and that’s on top of this already ridiculous night. He really needs to just go home and pass out before he slips up and says something like that out loud.

“For kissing you,” Achilles says, and Patroclus feels the words like a shock through every bone in his body, just the memory of it, Achilles’ lips gentle and careful on his, making his heart slam against his ribcage. Achilles smiles, none the wiser, and continues, “For not giving you an out. I could sort of tell your friend dragged you into the whole thing. I should’ve let you walk away if you wanted to.”

“Uh,” Patroclus says, looking from Achilles’ gentle eyes to the quirk of his mouth to the set of his shoulders, trying to figure out if this is kindness or pity that Achilles is putting on, whether he really means it or if Patroclus just really does look that pathetic. The thought settles in an ugly clench in his stomach. “Look, I—It’s no big deal. Really. It’s not like—Like, it’s just a fucking _game_ , okay? I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Achilles nods slowly, and Patroclus thinks, okay then, that’s that. He takes a deep breath and looks away at the ripples he stirs up in the pool when he kicks his legs, steeling himself for when Achilles finally stands and goes, his civic duty done so he can sleep easy at night. 

“Right, so you can go,” Patroclus says, hating the wobble that finds its way into his voice despite his best efforts. “You probably want to get back to your party, and my friends are probably looking for me anyways and we were talking about leaving soon and—”

“Patroclus,” Achilles says quietly, and anything Patroclus was thinking of saying flies right out the window. There’s something almost reverent in Achilles’ voice as he rounds his mouth around the syllables of Patroclus’ name, and it’s like Patroclus has been waiting his entire life to hear Achilles say his name, because he’s got this thing about his name – it’s weird and unusual and archaic sounding – but in Achilles’ careful syllables, it almost sounds like something that could be beautiful.

“Do you think I’m here to mock you?” Achilles asks quietly, and Patroclus is stunned, because here’s Achilles talking like _he’s_ the one who needs to be nervous, like _he’s_ the one taking a risk, and Patroclus doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything more ludicrous in his life. 

“I—,” Patroclus says and then stops. He shakes his head, everything that Achilles has said catching up with him in a rush. “You know my name?”

Achilles laughs again, softer than before and a little self-deprecating and endearing, and he says, “Of course” like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like social hierarchies in high school don’t even exist, like Achilles isn’t one of the most popular guys in school when Patroclus’s name is known probably only by a handful of people. 

Patroclus blinks, hard. “What?”

Something in Achilles’ face falters, just a touch. “You don’t believe me?” he asks.

“Well—I just—I mean,” Patroclus splutters. “I’m _nobody_.”

Achilles lets out a sudden laugh, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing, like Patroclus is the one who doesn’t make any sense. “Well, you’re not Odysseus,” he says, light like he doesn’t want to believe in the heaviness in Patroclus’ chest. 

Patroclus blinks again. “What?”

Achilles shakes his head and scrubs a hand over his face. “Nothing, it was just a joke—There was this prank sophomore year—,” he says and then pauses, sees the blank look on Patroclus’ face, and stops. Achilles lets out a huff of a laugh, disbelief clear on his face, and when he speaks again, there’s something determined in his voice, like has something to prove, “You’re a fucking fantastic student and you’ve been in almost all AP classes since freshman year. You want to be a doctor and you volunteer in the children’s hospital and you deliberately spend a lot of time in the tough places like oncology because not a lot of volunteers stay there for long and you’re a fan favorite, if what I hear is true. You teach yourself languages in your spare time and you don’t tell anyone but you cry every time watching The Lion King, which you watched at least once a week every week till you were ten.”

Patroclus’ heart just about leaps out of his body. “Actually, I watched The Lion King till I was nine. Briseis just likes to spread lies about me,” he says, and it’s like he can hear and feel and see himself talking but he’s just here to watch, because he doesn’t quite believe that it’s real, because this kind of shit just doesn’t happen in real life; the beautiful boy you’ve had a crush on for years doesn’t just recite to you your entire life’s story and look so utterly _charmed_ by it. 

Achilles grins, and it’s probably the most beautiful thing Patroclus has ever seen. “Sorry,” he says, the upturned corners of his mouth and the light lilt to his voice making it seem like he only half means it. He scoots just a little bit closer to Patroclus and says, gentler now, like he finally believes in the slight, loopy smile that’s found its way to Patroclus’ face, “You’re not nobody, Patroclus. People have noticed you. _I’ve_ noticed you. And I had to track down your best friend to get you here to just have a conversation with you.”

Patroclus just stares, completely floored, and he probably looks absolutely ridiculous, all slack-jawed and wide-eyed, but Achilles just keeps smiling at him like he’s something worth having, so Patroclus thinks maybe he’s done alright for once. 

“Can I ask you something?” Achilles asks, and Patroclus thinks that he’d do anything for Achilles, that his answer would always be yes if it meant getting Achilles to keep looking at him like this. 

“Yeah,” Patroclus manages to get out, his voice coming out high in exhilaration, his head spinning. 

“Do you actually like me or was Briseis lying about that too?” Achilles asks, coy like he already knows the answer but wants to hear it out loud anyways. 

And all Patroclus can do is laugh, because it’s like all the uneasiness, the anxiety, the fears from the night have suddenly dissipated into something bright and airy filling Patroclus from his toes all the way up to his ears. “I—No,” he says, the words all but leaping out of his mouth in an overexcited jumble, too eager and too ready to have something he’s thought of for so long as impossible. “I mean, _yes_ , I uh, I like you. And no, Briseis wasn’t lying.”

Achilles smiles, ear to ear, and it’s like he’s the sun, it’s so brilliant. “Can I ask you something else?” he says, and he’s somehow gotten so close to Patroclus that his voice is barely above a murmur and Patroclus can still hear him like he’s the only thing in the world that matters. 

Patroclus nods, his voice caught in his throat as he tracks Achilles’ gaze, watches his eyes dart down to Patroclus’ mouth and back up, watches the flutter of his long eyelashes. 

“Is it okay—,” Achilles starts and then stops and then tries again, “Would you be terribly offended if I kissed you again?”

And Patroclus can’t help laughing again as he shakes his head ( _no I wouldn’t mind, in what world would I possibly mind_ ), because who says shit like that? And Achilles’ hands, as they come up to gently cup Patroclus’ jaw, and the careful press of his mouth against Patroclus’ feel real and the quiet, surprised, pleased noise that Achilles makes when Patroclus works up the courage to kiss him back properly sounds real, and at this point, Patroclus is pretty sure at this point that this whole thing is actually real (or at least, if this really is a dream, it’s the best goddamn dream he’s had in a long time). Achilles smells like something light and vaguely floral and when Patroclus feels bold enough to slip his hand under the hem of Achilles’ shirt, he can feel the shiver that skips across Achilles skin, feels Achilles gasp softly against his mouth, and Patroclus decides, right then and there, that he doesn’t ever want anything else. Just this, Achilles so close to him that Patroclus can feel the heat of his skin, and this, Achilles nipping gently at Patroclus’ bottom lip and grinning when it makes Patroclus whimper, and this, Achilles’ fingers threading through Patroclus’ hair. And it’s better than any fantasy Patroclus could ever have come up with and it’s better than that stupid game and somehow all of it, the worrying and the fretting and the waiting, is all worth it. Because after waiting for so long, Patroclus knows that this is exactly what he’s spent his whole life wanting. 

“Patroclus!” 

Patroclus jumps at the sound of Briseis calling his name and jerks away from Achilles suddenly on instinct. Achilles’ mouth is kiss-swollen and his cheeks are flushed and his eyes seem greener somehow, drunk on giddiness and wanting and probably a little too much beer. Patroclus thinks it’s probably the best thing he’s ever seen.

When Patroclus whips his head around to glare at Briseis for interrupting his moment, he finds her standing in the doorway to the house, smiling and looking all too pleased with herself, like she could possibly have planned this whole thing, and he would try to come up with some snarky comment to throw her way, only he can’t think about anything other than the tingling in the tips of his fingers and the sheer joy about to burst out of his chest. 

“What?” he calls back instead. 

“We should probably go soon, I think,” she shouts back. “I have curfew and you have volunteering tomorrow.”

Patroclus sighs, the adrenaline rushing through his veins settling into a dull buzz. “Fine,” he tells her. “I’ll meet you out front.”

For a second, she looks like she might want to linger, and he knows that she’ll badger him about this later, too excited and too proud of him for finally sealing the deal after years of watching from afar, but for now, she just nods and ducks back into the house and leaves Patroclus and Achilles in the yard alone once more. 

“Hey,” Achilles says, drawing Patroclus’ gaze back to him again, and he still looks all bright and hazy but also settled like Patroclus feels, like something’s been decided between them even though they haven’t talked about anything. “Give me your phone.”

Patroclus hums in ascent and hands his phone over to Achilles, letting Achilles punch numbers into it and hand it back. Achilles’ fingertips brush against Patroclus’ palm as he slips the phone back to Patroclus, and Patroclus almost wants to say, _stop, no, don’t go_. But they’ve only just properly met and even if Patroclus has been in a little bit in love with Achilles since the day he first saw him, he has enough good sense to know that it might be coming on a little too strong to say that. 

“Text me tomorrow, okay?” Achilles says as he hoists himself to his feet. He holds out his hand to help Patroclus up. “We can go see a movie or—or something. If you’re free.”

Achilles lets his hand linger in Patroclus’ even after Patroclus is on his feet, and Patroclus feels very warm all over despite the cool breeze. 

“Yeah,” Patroclus says. “Yeah, okay.”

Patroclus gathers up his shoes as they make their way back inside, and Achilles walks Patroclus to the front door where Briseis is waiting for him. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, yeah?” Achilles says as he sees Patroclus off. 

Patroclus nods and just about melts all over again when Achilles presses another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth ( _For the road_ , Achilles says, and Patroclus knows that he’s a goner), and as he wanders off down the street with Briseis to where she parked her car, she grins at him and elbows him in the ribs. 

“And you said going to this party was a shitty idea,” she says. 

And even Patroclus has to admit that she was right, this time.

\---

Patroclus wakes the next morning feeling like something died in his mouth and even though he knows it’s late in the morning, it feels too early still, and the sunlight streaming in through the blinds he forgot to shut the night before is too much and too bright. Patroclus lays in bed for several long minutes, trying to gather himself into something that resembles a human being, when the events from the night before fully catch up with him. He gropes around for his phone and finds it by his bed, face down on the floor but plugged in to charge. Drunk Patroclus is good for something at least. 

Patroclus rolls over onto his back and goes to find Achilles’ contact information in his phone, holding his breath just a little because the slightest, most anxious part of his brain is still trying to tell him that this could all have been made up. But then Patroclus finds it and finds that Achilles entered his name and then several emojis as his contact name, including the sparkles and a heart and the peach, and Patroclus bursts out laughing. 

_feel like death. still not going to puke in your pool. still like you._ Patroclus texts after some agonizing. The last bit somehow still feels like a risk even though Achilles made it very clear last night that the feeling is mutual. 

It takes Achilles a full two minutes to text Patroclus back, meaning that Patroclus has just enough time to swing through the entire cycle of regretting a text message at least five times, but when Patroclus’ phone buzzes, the text reads: 

_good still like you too_

And then a moment later: 

_we still on for tonight i’ll buy the tickets if you buy the popcorn :-)_

And something about the fact that Achilles uses emoticons, noses and all, when he’s clearly very aware that emojis exist makes Patroclus grin so wide his face hurts. 

_yeah_ , he texts back.

A minute and then: 

_pick you up at 8_

And yeah, it’s maybe the best day of Patroclus’ life.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so much for reading! kudos and comments are super super appreciated they honestly make my day!!
> 
> come find me on [tumblr](http://jjessikapava.tumblr.com/) if you want!


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